


superhero.

by LoserEddie



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood, Emotional Child Abuse (referenced), Gen, Murder, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoserEddie/pseuds/LoserEddie
Summary: His father, smiling. Not that generic smile each Bateman offered at business gatherings, but one of pride. It became very clear to him that day, how to make his dad proud: continuing his legacy. He’d do anything to impress his idol, after all.___patrick admires his father. after all, what young boy doesn't aspire to be just like their parents?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	superhero.

“I wanna be just like you when I grow up, Dad.” Patrick used to say.

What young boy didn’t idolize their father? Plenty, Patrick came to realize, but for him, his dad was his entire world. The man could be considered a superhero in his eyes: tall, intelligent, strong; everything he aspired to be one day. In his eyes, he could do no wrong.

That mindset never faltered, even as he watched his father raise an axe high into the air. It glistened in the dark basement, liquid dripping from its surface onto the cold floor. As the blade swung down once again, Patrick watched, not uttering a word. What was there to say?

The screams had stopped some time ago, which came as both a curse and a blessing. In all honesty, he much preferred sound to this chilling silence. With only the occasional thud filling the void, the situation became all too real. But he couldn’t panic- of course not. His father already had enough resentment towards his two sons, that would only increase it.

So all he could do was sit on the pool table, fingers running along the dusty billiard balls. If he squinted, he could make out a chainsaw on the other end of the room. His father’s prized possession, carefully leaned against the bare wall. Being saved for special occasions, or whenever both his mother and Sean weren’t home, Patrick came to dread the mere sight of the weapon. It came to be mentioned in plenty of threats, most telling him to never report these basement activities, unless he wished to suffer a crueller fate.

“Patrick, grab the matchbox.” His father suddenly commanded, dropping the blood-stained axe with a huff.

Patrick pulled the matchbox from his pocket and passed it to his father. There was no thank you, or even much acknowledgment, though it never came to be expected in the Bateman household. Not from the parents, at least. After pouring gasoline onto the chopped corpse and taking a few steps back, his father struck a match. Then, oddly, he glanced towards Patrick.

“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” He asked. Prompted by a nod, he continued, “Well, here’s your present.”

And soon, in his hand, Patrick found a flame. So small, yet one of the deadliest things he had ever touched. His hazel eyes flickered towards the still body. Who this person once had been, he may never find out. But with just one match, no one would ever learn what became of them.

Then it happened. The corpse illuminated in flames of orange and yellow, filling the basement with light. Patrick watched as their features became discernable, until they only looked like that of a mannequin. Even with this magnificent sight before him, only one thing could truly catch his attention:

His father, smiling. Not that generic smile each Bateman offered at business gatherings, but one of pride. It became very clear to him that day, how to make his dad proud: continuing his legacy. He’d do anything to impress his idol, after all.

So what if he was only eleven?


End file.
